Traveling alone with social anxiety, I found that real fulfillment didn’t come from seeing every sight, but from enjoying calm, slow mornings in Rome.

The first time I tried to see the Colosseum, I stopped at the metro exit.

Not because it was closed. Not because I was lost. Because of the sound—a low, thick hum of 5,000 human bodies, selfie sticks clicking, vuvuzelas from a street vendor, and a toddler wailing somewhere to my left. I stood at the top of the stairs for three full minutes, gripping my crossbody bag, then walked back to my hotel and cried into a pillow.

I have social anxiety. It’s not just being introverted; crowded metros make my vision blur, and being bumped over and over feels overwhelming. Still, I flew 5,000 miles to Rome in July, right in the middle of the busiest season, surrounded by selfie sticks and long lines for gelato.

I wondered what I had been thinking.

Two days before my trip, I searched online for “Rome crowd July” and almost canceled my flight. Every photo showed crowds at the Trevi Fountain, long lines at St. Peter’s Basilica, and people blocking the ruins. I thought about getting a refund, but my flight was non-refundable. My therapist told me, “Go anyway. Just permit yourself to do it differently.”

So I went. I did it my way: I never saw the inside of the Colosseum, but I found my own version of a perfect Roman holiday.

On my first morning, I woke up at 5:30. I’m not a morning person, but the chaos had left me feeling shaky and embarrassed. If I were going to fail at being a “normal tourist,” I’d rather do it before sunrise.

At 6 AM, I walked to the Spanish Steps. Only a few people were there: a jogger, an older woman reading, and two pigeons. Sunlight touched Trinità dei Monti, and the fountain’s water dripped quietly. I sat on the stone, ate a cold maritozzo, and realized I didn’t need to see all of Rome. I needed to feel it by myself.

That became my rule: do one thing each day, and do it before 8 AM.

On the second day, I visited the Basilica of San Clemente. It’s just ten minutes from the Colosseum and was almost empty at 8:15. I went down three levels: first a 12th-century church, then a 4th-century church, and finally a Roman alley with a running stream. Alone in the cool darkness, I listened to water moving under the stone, as if the city was breathing before dawn.

That was my version of the Roman Empire. Not the famous one above ground, but the quiet one below, where the crowds never go.

On the third day, I skipped the line for the Pantheon. Instead, I found a bench in the Orange Garden on Aventine Hill. I sat there from 7 to 8:30 in the morning, watching the sun light up St. Peter’s dome across the river. A cat walked by, and an older man fed it. No one took my photo or asked where I was from. I ate another maritozzo.

I didn’t see the Sistine Chapel. I didn’t throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain—I only looked at it from the edge of the crowd for a minute and a half before leaving. I never took a pasta-making class, a Vespa tour, or joined a night walk through Trastevere with a group.

Instead, I woke up early, moved slowly, and left places before they got noisy. I learned which churches open at 7:30 AM—almost all of them—and which piazzas have shady benches. I found that having a cappuccino and pastry for breakfast is a quiet pleasure if you do it at 6:45 AM, standing at the bar. No one rushes you if you keep to yourself.

On my last evening, I did something brave. I walked to the Colosseum at 9 PM, after the last entry, when only a few dozen people were sitting outside on the cobblestones. I found a spot by a low wall, looked up at the lit arches, and stayed for twenty minutes. There were strangers around me, but it was quiet. No one touched me or shouted. I took one photo for proof and walked back to my hotel smiling.

Here’s what I learned: Travel advice from extroverts can be discouraging if you have social anxiety. They suggest joining hostel pub crawls, booking group tours, “making friends,” and “saying yes to everything.” That advice works for them, but for people like us, it can lead to panic in a crowded metro.

So here’s my advice: Enjoy one thing each day. Eat at unusual times. Leave when the crowds show up. Look for quiet, hidden, peaceful places. Your Roman holiday can be just for you.

Rome wasn’t built in a day. I didn’t see most of it, but the quiet, early, solitary moments I found made Rome feel like mine, and that was enough.